At Sixes and Sevens
by tutncleo
Summary: Gibbs gets hurt at a crime scene. Part Six of the "Home Is..." series. Tony/Gibbs pairing.


"**At Sixes and Sevens"**

_**Seek home for rest, for home is best. **_**Thomas Tusser**

"Tony, don't! You've got to get off him."

Tony could feel light pressure from the hands on his shoulders, but the voice seemed to be coming from a long way off, tinny and barely audible.

"Tony!"

The hands were more insistent now, yanking at him, trying to pull him off the man he had pinned to the ground, but he just shrugged them off, as he continued to pummel his fists into the man. He knew he had to hurt him, even though he couldn't remember why. He couldn't see clearly, red dots swam in his eyes, but he could tell his aim was true as his fists connected with soft flesh, and that was all he cared about right now.

"Tony, stop it! We need him alive. Tony!?! Can you hear me? The paramedics are going to be here soon. Go wait with Gibbs, I've got Johnson," the voice said, as the hands pulled at him. Tony paused for a moment, trying to clear his head, and the voice pressed on.

"Tony, Gibbs needs you. Go watch over him while I cuff Johnson, and get someone to take him in."

'Gibbs,' Tony thought. 'Gibbs needs me.' His brain wasn't working right. It was taking too long to process words, and nothing seemed quite real. 'Why does Gibbs need me?' he wondered, as he tried to look around, but moving his head made everything worse. Everything he looked at was surrounded by a haze that pulsed like a force field from a _Star Trek _episode, making him feel dizzy, and the objects seem oddly insubstantial. 'Gibbs,' he thought again. 'Where is Gibbs?' He looked up, Timothy McGee's blurry face loomed over him, and Tony squinted, trying to bring the features into focus.

"Tony?" the voice asked, and he thought it was coming from McGee, but his ears and eyes seemed to be disconnected, and it was hard to hear anything around the deafening whooshing sound that was ringing in his ears. "Tony, let's get you up. Johnson isn't going anywhere. It'll take awhile for him to come around again, anyway." The voice said something else, but Tony couldn't make it out, although he didn't think it had been addressed to him.

Tony was aware of the hands helping him to stand. "Gibbs?" his mouth said, although he hadn't consciously tried to speak.

"He's over by that tree," the voice said, and this time Tony was sure it was McGee speaking, because he could see him gesture off to Tony's left.

Tony forced his eyes to follow the hand until he saw where it was pointing. The noise in his head was beginning to abate somewhat, and the red dots in his eyes were scattering, allowing him to see a bit better. Someone lay on the ground under the tree. Although he couldn't be sure, Tony didn't think he was moving. "Gibbs?" he asked again.

"Over there, Tony. Come on, I'll go with you. Williams will deal with Johnson," McGee said, and Tony wondered for a brief moment about who Williams and Johnson were, but dismissed that as unimportant. When Tony took a step forward, pain shot through his body, surprising him, and causing him to stumble and gasp. McGee caught him before he fell, then grabbed Tony's arm, wrapped it around his shoulder, taking some of the pressure off Tony's right ankle. "I've got you," McGee said, "Just lean on me as we walk."

When they'd gone a few steps, Tony saw that the body on the ground was Gibbs. His whole right side was covered in blood. The whooshing sound and red dots returned to full strength, and his whole body became tingly and cold. He flashed back on a gunshot, and Gibbs falling. He remembered running after the person who had fired the shot, and a fight, but the details all seemed jumbled together, making them hard to sort out. He must have stopped moving, because McGee said, "Come on Tony. We need to keep going."

Tony didn't want to move though; he wasn't even sure if he could. He didn't want to go over there, over to where Gibbs lay. 'What if he's dead?' a voice in his head screamed. He couldn't look at him.

"He's not dead," McGee soothed, and Tony realized he must have spoken out loud. "The bullet got him in the shoulder. He just passed out from the pain. As long as the paramedics get here soon, he's going to be fine." McGee nudged at Tony, trying to get him to move again. "We need to get you over there. You aren't in much better shape, Tony, and you need to sit down."

'Alive. Gibbs is alive!' the thought played over and over again in Tony's head, drowning out almost everything else.

"…..…hit your head……..cut over your eye…….." McGee was saying to Tony, as they made their way slowly to where Gibbs lay. "………bleeding stopped……..bullet's still in there?" Tony didn't even try to follow what McGee was saying, he was focused on reaching Gibbs. When they got there, McGee let Tony sink down beside Gibbs.

"Gibbs? Gibbs, wake up," Tony pleaded, groping around until his hands touched Gibbs. He was relieved when the sound of a siren cut through the noise in his head. The paramedics were there, and they would help Gibbs. "EMTs are here Boss. You're going to be fine," Tony assured Gibbs' limp body.

Feet pounding on pavement, and the spinning wheels of a gurney pulled Tony's attention away from Gibbs, as the paramedics descended. After that everything seemed to happen in a blur. Gibbs was loaded onto the gurney, and surrounded by medical personnel. Two paramedics turned their attention to Tony, blocking his view of what was happening with Gibbs.

"Sir, just stay sitting. I need you to look at me sir," a paramedic said when Tony tried to stand up to see what was going on.

"I need to go with him," Tony insisted.

"Oh, don't worry, you're going, too," the paramedic had assured him. "I just need to get a sense of what's going on with you. Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

"I'm fine," Tony said, batting away the paramedic's hand. "What's happening with Gibbs?" Tony demanded.

"He's going to be alright. They're just stabilizing him. Looks like the bullet went straight through. Now, tell me what happened to you," the paramedic said, in a calming voice.

'Gibbs is going to be fine,' that was all Tony heard, although part of his brain registered the fact that the ringing in his ears had stopped, and he felt less chilled.

"He was in a fight with our perp," McGee supplied for Tony. "He did something to his right ankle, and I think his head got banged on the ground a couple of times. He seems kind of out of it. I'm not sure if there's anything else wrong, he hasn't said much."

Before he knew it, Tony had been loaded into the ambulance, next to the gurney holding Gibbs. Gibbs eyes were open and he had an oxygen mask on, but he pulled it off when he saw Tony. "Tony, you okay?" Gibbs asked, fighting off the paramedic who was trying to fix the mask back on his face.

"Was gonna ask you the same thing," Tony grinned, the sound of Gibbs' voice relieving him beyond measure. "I'm fine, but I was worried about you."

"Yeah, you look fine DiNozzo. What'd you do, stop Johnson with your head?" Gibbs asked sardonically.

That's right, Tony remembered. They'd been after a two-bit scam artist named Johnson. No one had thought he was very dangerous, so they'd been shocked when he'd pulled a gun. The last thing Tony remembered clearly was the gun going off, and Gibbs falling to the ground. After that, it was all fuzzy. He remembered being angry and scared, wrestling the gun away from Johnson, but that was about it. "Just got a few bumps and bruises, Boss. Nothing out of the ordinary," Tony answered.

"I need you to put the oxygen mask back on sir," the paramedic insisted, and Gibbs had grumbled, but complied, the pain in his shoulder making it too hard to argue further.

The scene at the hospital had been ugly. Once the doctors had confirmed that the bullet had passed through Gibbs' shoulder, had cleaned and stitched the wound, and administered a round of antibiotics intravenously, Gibbs had demanded to be released. Tony wasn't any better. The doctors confirmed that he had a mild concussion, had sprained his ankle, and had put twelve sutures in the cut above his eye. They had wanted to keep him overnight as well, and Tony wasn't having it. By the time McGee got to the hospital several hours later, after running the crime scene, securing Johnson in a holding cell, and dealing with Vance, Tony and Gibbs had already left.

"Gone? What do you mean they're gone? How could you let that happen!?" he'd demanded of the nurse at the registration desk in the ER. "They should both have been here for at least a night, if not longer. And how did they leave? Neither one had a car here!" he stormed, thinking the day couldn't get any more bizarre.

"All I can tell you is that they signed themselves out 'Against Medical Advice' and called a cab. After that, your guess is as good as mine," snapped the nurse, who decided she officially hated all NCIS agents.

McGee didn't bother responding, as he spun on his heels and headed back out to his car. He didn't know what to do. Normally Ducky would take care of situations like this, but he and Abby were at some kind of forensics conference delivering a paper they had jointly written, and wouldn't be back for two days. Someone was going to have to check up on them, he knew. Deciding Gibbs was the bigger concern, he steered his car towards Gibbs' house. When McGee pulled into Gibbs' drive, he saw a light coming from an upstairs room. 'Well, at least he isn't in the basement working on his damn boat,' he thought. He didn't bother knocking. With any luck at all, Gibbs would be asleep in his bed, and besides, everyone knew Gibbs never locked his door.

Tony sat in the darkened living room, staring blindly at the far wall, a nearly empty bottle of beer in his hand. At his feet, sat the remnants of the rest of the two six-packs he'd pulled out of the refrigerator a while ago. Gibbs had been asleep for the last hour and a half, the pain from his injury, and the medicine the doctor had prescribed, finally getting the better of him. Tony, not wanting to disturb him, and knowing that he would be asleep for hours, had hobbled back downstairs. Not really knowing what to do with himself, and wanting to wash the day away, Tony had resorted to the beer. He had refused to take anything for the pain, not liking the way narcotics make him feel, but alcohol was a different matter, and besides, it was just beer, he'd told himself. He was willing to try anything that would help him erase the image of Gibbs falling to the ground from his mind. The beer and the residual shock, combined with the concussion he refused to acknowledge, and had neglected to mention to Gibbs, were making him woozy. The upside of that, he told himself, was that sitting upright had become such a challenge, he didn't have the energy to keep replaying the day.

McGee let himself in, and began to move slowly forward. Light from the streetlights spilled into the room through the sheer drapes over the windows, but it was still dark, and his eyes had not adjusted fully yet, making it hard to see anything much more than shapes. He had only been to Gibbs' house a couple of times, but each time he had been so excited by the opportunity to get a glimpse at the private side of his boss' life, that he had memorized as many details as possible. He knew the small entry way opened into the living room. A green and beige striped couch, he recalled, was planted in the center of the room, facing a modest fireplace, it's mantel decorated with pictures from when Gibbs had been in the Corps. As he crept forward, he wasn't prepared for someone to rise up from the couch and spin to face him. As he was reaching for his gun, he realized the person in front of him was Tony.

"McGee?" Tony was looking at him in confusion, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to confirm what he was seeing. "What're you doing here?"

"I just came to make sure the boss is okay," McGee stuttered, taking in the fact that Tony was wearing just a pair of sweat pants and holding a bottle of beer.

"Oh," Tony said, as if that explained everything and sank limply back down onto the couch. "He's asleep, but the doctors said he's gonna be fine."

McGee thought he heard a slur in Tony's voice, and he stepped further into the room. That was when he saw all the empty bottles at Tony's feet. "I'm going to turn on the lamp over here," McGee said, as he crossed to a small table placed next to the wingback chair diagonal from the couch, and switched on the light.

"Knock yourself out," Tony said, waving the hand that held the bottle airily in McGee's direction. When he noticed the bottle he said, "I'd offer you a beer, but I think I drank them all." Then he giggled rather manically.

The light enabled McGee to study Tony more closely. He winced when he saw the multiple bruises on Tony's arms and chest, and the expertly applied bandage on his forehead indicated that the cut over his eye had required stitches. His right ankle was wrapped in ace bandages, and an ankle brace had been applied over the top of that. Tony was watching him in a lazy, mildly curious manner, as if trying to figure out what to say next. When McGee looked at Tony's eyes, he realized they were red rimmed, as if Tony had been crying, and it was clear that he was drunk. Nothing made any sense to McGee.

"And did the doctors say it would be fine for you both to leave the hospital?" McGee asked Tony.

"They didn't stop us," Tony responded with a smirk. "Besides, they said Gibbs needed to rest, and everyone knows you can't get any sleep in a hospital," he said, now trying hard to sound reasonable. Then he ruined it all by belching, and laughing.

"I think maybe you should lie down too, Tony," McGee suggested.

"Can't, gotta make sure Gibbs is okay," Tony was shaking his head vigorously, even though the motion was making him dizzy.

"Why don't we go check on him, and then we can talk about it some more?" McGee offered.

"Good idea, Probie-Wan Kenobi!" Tony said, lurching to his feet again.

McGee rushed over to Tony, afraid he was going to topple over. "Come on Tony, let me help you," McGee said, as he reached out to steady his partner.

"You're a good friend," Tony said, as he threw an arm around McGee's shoulder.

"Let's just leave this beer down here," McGee said, as he gently took the glass bottle out of Tony's hand. When it looked like Tony might object, he added, "You can finish it when we come back down."

"Okay," Tony said agreeably. "I think I may've had enough anyway," he whispered, as if sharing a deep, dark secret.

"Yeah, me too, Tony," McGee agreed, as he placed the bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch. "So, where is Gibbs?" he then asked. "Let's go see how he's doing."

"Upstairs, in the bedroom," Tony answered, and headed towards the stairs, pulling McGee along with him, as part of his weight rested on McGee's shoulders.

They made their way up the stairs successfully, if not very gracefully.

"Last door on the right," Tony slurred after McGee paused at the top of the stairs.

When they entered the bedroom, McGee saw Gibbs lying on the bed, under the covers. The top of his chest and his shoulders stuck out, and he could see the dressing on his right shoulder. He face was peaceful, and he seemed to be sound asleep. Tony dropped his arm from McGee's shoulder as he stood gazing at their boss.

"See, he's doing fine," McGee whispered to Tony. "He's sound asleep. Just like you should be. Why don't we go and then you can lie down," he suggested, hoping Tony wouldn't argue.

"Maybe I should," Tony said, sounding kind of surprised. "I feel sort a funny. Think sleep might help."

Before McGee could stop him, Tony crossed to the bed, pulled the covers back, and lay down beside Gibbs. McGee stared in horror, wondering how he was going to get Tony out of there without waking Gibbs. McGee was still trying to work that out when Tony snuggled in closer to Gibbs, and shut his eyes.

"Tony?" an open mouthed McGee heard Gibbs mutter, never opening his eyes.

"Yeah, s'me," Tony replied, already half asleep. "Go back to sleep Jethro."

McGee was cringing, waiting for the explosion, when to his amazement, Gibbs rolled onto his left side, and slid a leg around Tony's thighs, moving his head until their foreheads touched. McGee didn't think he had ever really woken up. Slowly backing out of the room and moving as quietly as he could, McGee tried to make sense of what he'd just seen.

When he got down the stairs, he headed straight for the front door, and let himself out. He was breathing a bit easier by the time he got into his car. As he backed the car out onto the street, he realized that this explained a lot. It certainly explained Tony's reaction to Gibbs being shot today, and the way he had beaten Johnson to a pulp. Tony had been more centered lately, he realized, less frenetic. Thinking back over the past few months, he realized that Gibbs had even laughed at some of Tony's jokes and more outrageous pranks. It also explained why there hadn't been any pizza and movie nights at Tony's for a long time. McGee hadn't really thought too much about it until now, since he was spending all his spare time trying to meet the deadline on his next novel, and Abby ~ Abby must know ~ it suddenly occurred to him. Last time he had made a disparaging remark about Tony's transient love life, Abby had just smirked at him, and given him a knowing smile. At the time, he hadn't really thought about it, or any of the other things for that matter, but now, it all made sense.

McGee wasn't shocked, well that wasn't true, he wasn't shocked because they were both men. He was shocked because Gibbs had broken one of his own rules – number twelve – never date a co-worker. He was also shocked by the obvious ease and affection that existed between the two men. It was a side of them he'd never seen before. As he thought about it, he was surprised when it slowly dawned on him that they were perfect for each other. Gibbs needed someone to make him smile and laugh, and Tony needed someone to ground him. McGee also knew that under Tony's self assured mask, lay a sea of insecurities, and no one would deny Gibbs' need to protect. By the time he got to his own home, McGee was smiling, glad that Tony and Gibbs had found the perfect someone to love. It wasn't until he had closed his front door that a terrible thought crashed down on him. 'What am I going to say to them tomorrow?'


End file.
